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RHYMES  OF  A  ROUGHNECK 


RHYMES    OF   A 
ROUGHNECK 

BY 

PAT  O'COTTER 


SEWARD,  ALASKA 

PAT  O'COTTER 

1918 


Copyright,  1918, 
BY  FHANK  J.  COTTER 


DEDICATED 

TO 
ALASKA 

The  home  of  the  tin  can  and  dog, 

A  waste  of  snow,  ice,  and  moss. 

The  graveyard  of  ambitions, 

The  by- word  for  hell, 

The  home  of  the  famed  double  cross. 

Men  come  here  for  gold, 

Ambitious  for  wealth 

They  stick — for  they  can't  get  away, 

They  dig,  drink,  and  die, 

And  then  go  to  hell, 

To  pay  for  their  last  sucker  play — 

ALASKA 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND  .  .  .  .11 
A  WOMAN,  A  DOG,  AND  A  WALNUT  TREE  .  23 
WHEN  THE  WATER  STARTS  TO  RUN  .  .  29 

THE  THROWBACK 35 

THE  MALAMUTE 39 

UNSATISFIED 45 

THE  PROSPECTOR 47 

IF 51 

Us  FOR  SAM 55 

How  LONG 59 

THAT  30  U.  S.  ON  THE  WALL      ...      63 

FLOTSAM 67 

TRYING 69 

THE  NEW  MASTER 73 

PROSPECTING 81 

THE  WOMAN  THAT  You  PASS  BY  .        .        .85 

WHY 89 

AND  STILL  I  LIKE  ALASKA      .         .         .         .91 


RHYMES  OF  A  ROUGHNECK 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

FOR  a  thousand  years  the  Devil  crouched 

On  the  white  hot  flags  of  hell: 
For  a  thousand  years  the  Devil  cursed 

The  imps  that  had  chained  him  well; 
For  a  thousand  years  the  Devil  sulked 

And  planned  with  his  hell-trained  brain 
Of  the  things  he'd  do,  when  his  term  was  thru, 

And  freed  from  the  blistering  chain. 

He'd  even  the  score  with  the  men  of  earth, 

And  give  them  back  pain  for  pain, 
For  all  of  the  days  he  had  felt  the  blaze 

And  the  sear  of  the  galling  chain. 
And  it  came  to  pass  when  his  time  was  up 

And  hell's  gates  were  opened  wide 
That  all  hell  rang,  and  the  clinkered  imps  sang 

When  the  Devil  passed  Outside. 
1 1 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

"I  have  served  my  time,"  the  Devil  said 

As  he  halted  by  heaven's  gate ; 
I  have  sweated  in  hell  for  a  thousand  years 

And  each  year  was  a  year  of  hate. 
I  have  framed  my  plans  for  a  thousand  years, 

I  have  worked  out  the  details  well 
Now  I'd  have  a  place  near  the  human  race 

As  a  sort  of  a  prep  school  for  hell. 

The  sons  of  men,  on  the  earth  below 

Have  scarcely  a  chance  to  sin, 
Churched,    belled    and    gowned,    they    mope 
around 

By  precept,  all  sealed  in; 
There  is  never  a  sin  for  lust  of  flesh 

Nor  sin  for  a  man  struck  blow, 
And  the  red  blood  crime  of  the  olden  time 

Has  passed  with  the  long  ago. 

Hell's  motley  crew  is  scarce  worth  coal 

When  they  come  to  the  thing  called  death; 

They  squat  on  the  coals  with  the  real  damned 

souls 
And  listen  with  bated  breath, 

12 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

To  the  tales  of  the  earth,  when  the  world  was 

new, 

When  a  man  had  to  fight  for  his  own, 
When  he  took  his  wife  at  the  risk  of  his  life 
And  killed  for  a  half-baked  bone. 

Now  I'd  build  a  place  where  a  man  might  sin 

For  the  sake  of  his  own  desires; 
Make  his  the  cause,  and  his  the  laws, 

And  the  penalty,  mine  own  fires; 
Hast  a  place  on  earth  to  breed  such  men 

Each  for  his  own  deeds  blamed? 
If  you'll  give  me  a  place,  I'll  breed  a  race 

That  hell  may  not  be  shamed. 

The  God  King  sighed  as  he  searched  the  plat 

And  the  map  of  the  earth  below; 
I  have  given  a  place  for  every  race 

In  the  belt  from  snow  to  snow. 
I  have  given  a  home  to  each  bird  and  beast 

For  even  the  fox  has  its  hole, 
I  have  given  all  land  to  the  sons  of  man 

And  I've  builded  a  home  for  his  soul. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

In  the  seven  days  that  I  toiled  below 

When  I  builded  the  seas  and  lands, 
There  was  much  to  do,  and  I  didn't  get  thru 

And  one  place  unfinished  stands. 
It's  the  part  of  my  work  that  I  really  regret, 

For  I  know  it's  the  worst  of  the  lot, 
It's  known  down  below  as  The  Land  of  the 
Snow, 

Or,  The  Country  that  God  forgot. 

It  stands  apart  by  the  Northern  Pole, 

Unfinished,  forgotten,  alone, 
And  no  man's  hand  has  won  this  land, 

And  no  man  calls  it  his  own. 
The  country  is  made  up  of  odds  and  ends, 

Unfinished  mountain,  and  swamp  and  lake, 
Stuff  that  couldn't  be  used  when  the  earth  was 
fused ; 

If  you  want  it,  it's  yours  to  take. 

"I'll  take  this  plot,"  the  Devil  quoth, 
"For  I  like  your  description  well, 

Yes,  I'll  take  this  place  and  I'll  mould  a  race 
That  will  be  a  credit  to  hell." 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

Then  he  whistled  an  imp  from  the  uttermost 

part 

And  they  dropped  as  the  comets  whirled 
Past  the  white  baked  stars,  past  Venus  and 

Mars 
To  the  unfinished  part  of  the  world. 

He  landed  at  last  on  Denali's  crest 

And  he  gazed  on  his  acres  wide — 
Barren  and  bleak,  from  each  mountain  peak 

And  swamp  to  the  Arctic's  tide. 
The  Devil  grinned  as  he  stood  and  gazed 

Said  he,  "This  is  just  what  I  need, 
It's  the  place  of  my  plan,  for  the  downfall  of 
man 

Where  I'll  change  his  ambition  to  greed." 

Then  he  summoned  the  legions  of  hell  to  his 

side 

Named  an  arch  imp  to  straw  boss  each  crew. 
Tho  they  gibbered  and  cursed,  each  one  did 

the  worst 
With  the  jobs  Satan  gave  them  to  do. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

They  tumbled  the  mountains  high  up,  and  on 

end, 

Piled  glaciers  where  streams  ought  to  be, 
And  swamp  land  was  placed  in  the  desolate 

waste 
That  stretched  from  the  hills  to  the  sea. 

They  shook  down  all  hell  for  a  climate  to  fit, 

But  they  couldn't  get  suited  in  hell, 
So  they  took  the  worst  parts  and  with  devilish 

arts 

They  built  one  that  suited  them  well. 
They  laid  out  muck  swamps  where  the  water 

lies  dead 

Bred  mosquitoes  and  moose  flies  and  gnats 
Put  the  brown  bear  that  kills  on  the  barren 

brown  hills 
And  with  quill  pigs  infested  the  flats. 

They  shut  off  the  sun  for  full  half  of  the  year, 
Made  each  glacier  a  blizzard  blown  trap, 

They  strung  out  volcanoes  half  way  to  Japan 
Each  one  with  a  hair  trigger  cap. 


16 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

They  planned  for  the  coast  line  a  system  of 

storms 

Each  equipped  with  a  ninety  mile  breath 
And  then  spread  o'er  it  all  the  fog  that  men 

call 
The  North  Coast  mantle  of  death. 

Then  knowing  full  well  that  man  would  not  go 

To  a  Land  so  forlorn  to  behold, 
He  salted  the  hillsides  and  some  of  the  streams 

With  nuggets  and  traces  of  gold. 
He  tinted  the  hills  with  a  green  copper  ledge 

And  covered  the  valleys  with  game, 
All  this  for  a  lure,  then  the  Devil  felt  sure 

That  the  white  man  would  fall  for  the  same. 


THE    LAND 

The  lure  of  the  little  known  places 
Still  calls,  as  it  called  to  your  sires; 

The  longing  for  wide  open  spaces, 
The  perfume  of  evening  camp  fires; 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

The  hunting  for  treasure  unfound  yet 
The  knocking  at  fortune's  own  gate ; 

The  doing  of  deeds  for  the  joy  that  it  breeds 
Were  all  used  by  the  Devil  as  bait. 

The  summers  besprinkled  with  sunshine, 

The  hillsides  a  riot  of  bloom 
With  meadows  a  color  shot  grandeur 

And  valleys  as  still  as  a  tomb. 
With  mountains  of  cloud-encased  beauty 

Or  with  stars  shining  down  on  it  all 
It's  the  trails  we  don't  know  that  call  us  to  go 

And  no  wonder  man  heeded  the  call. 

The  winters,  the  trails  all  unbroken, 

The  far  fields  that  beckon  and  call; 
The  song  of  the  frost  on  the  runners 

And  the  Northern  Lights  high  over  all; 
The  trees  in  the  bend  of  the  river, 

The  streams  that  nobody  has  spanned; 
The  whisper  of  gold,  the  story  half  told, 

All  this  by  the  Devil  was  planned. 


18 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

When  the  trap  of  the  Devil  was  re-ady 

Widespread  went  the  whisper  of  gold, 
And  the  white  men  stampeded  like  cattle, 

There  never  was  tie  that  could  hold. 
The  first  mad  rush  to  the  Northland 

When  the  scum  from  the  four  ends  of  earth 
Came  in  with  a  rush,  a  scramble,  a  crush 

Like  scrap  in  a  fusing  pot  hurled. 

They  came  all  untaught  and  not  ready, 

Spurred  on  in  the  mad  rush  for  gold; 
They  died  here  unsung  and  uncared  for 

Of  famine,  and  scurvy  and  cold. 
They  had  the  same  laws  as  the  wolf  pack, 

Stay  up,  for  you  die  if  you  fail, 
And  the  paths  to  the  Northern  placers 

Are  marked  by  their  graves  on  the  trail. 

The  towns  that  they  started  were  plague  spots 
With  brothels  and  dance  halls  aglare, 

With  cribs,  faro  banks  and  roulette  wheels 
And  phonographs  adding  their  blare. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

All  traps  for  the  young  and  unwary, 
All  builded  to  help  with  his  fall, 

Never  dealer  was   fair,   never  game   on  the 

square 
For  the  Devil  presided  o'er  all. 

Nick  fiendishly  grinned  when  he  saw  his  work 

And  he  chuckled  with  devilish  glee — 
"When  it  comes  to  making  an  up-to-date  hell 

They've  sure  got  to  hand  it  to  me. 
For  every  ten  souls  that  come  in  to  this  land 

There's  nine  of  them  headed  for  hell 
With  never  a  fight,  the  percentage  is  right, 

And  my  prep  school  is  doing  quite  well." 


Thus  for  a  time  he  ruled  this  land 

Where  few  might  venture  forth, 
For  never  a  man-made  law  held  good 

From  Dixon's  Entrance  north. 
He  held  this  land  in  his  claw  tipped  grip, 

And  he  took  his  pay  in  souls, 
Theirs  was  the  blame,  for  they  played  his  game, 

And  they  paid  for  it  on  hell's  coals. 
20 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

But  the  Devil  lost  when  the  law  came  in, 

Or  the  men  who  made  the  laws, 
The  gambling  hall  and  the  dance  hall  went 

And  the  Devil  was  forced  to  pause. 
For  the  life  in  the  land  develops  men, 

Men  of  an  alien  breed, 
A  new  made  lot,  that  couldn't  be  bought, 

And  strangers  to  graft  or  greed. 

They  loosed  the  land  from  the  Devil's  grip, 

They  pierced  the  hills  with  their  trails, 
They  flagged  the  rocks  at  the  harbor's  mouth, 

They  paved  the  way  for  the  rails. 
They  builded  a  school  where  the  dance  hall 
stood 

And  they  brought  in  their  children  and  wives; 
They  gave  their  all  to  the  new  land's  call 

And  some  of  them  gave  their  lives. 

Now  the  pimp  and  the  brothel  have  passed 

away 

And  the  gambling  hall  is  a  dream; 
A  railroad  train  now  follows  the  trail 
Where  we  followed  a  nine-dog  team. 
21 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  LAND 

A  thousand  stamps  now  sing  their  song 

Where  we  panned  on  the  gold  shot  ledge, 

And  a  picture  show  now  marks  the  line 
That  once  was  the  frontier's  edge. 

The  milch  cows  graze  where  the  brown  bear 
roamed 

And  a  saw  mill  sings  its  lay 
On  a  bar  in  the  Yukon  River 

Where  we  panned  one  summer  day. 
They  are  raising  wheat  where  the  bull  moose 
grazed 

In  the  summers  of  long  ago, 
It  seems  kind  of  strange  when  we  note  the  change, 

But  we'd  rather  have  it  so. 


Yet,  sometimes  we  dream  as  we  camp  at  night 

In  the  bend  of  the  river's  flow 
Of  the  land  that  was,  of  the  land  we  knew 

In  the  days  of  the  long  ago. 
The  wild  free  land  that  bred  the  men 

Who  fought  with  might  and  main 
And  took  this  land  from  the  Devil's  hand, 

And  we'd  like  to  see  it  again., 

22 


A  WOMAN,  A  DOG,  AND  A  WALNUT 
TREE 

THIS  Land  is  the  orphan  kiddie 

Of  the  group  with  their  stars  in  the  Flag, 
And  it's  looked  on  Outside  as  an  alien, 

Where  its  treatment  makes  honest  men  gag. 
It's  treated  the  same  as  the  harlot 

Who  barters  her  body  for  pelf 
And  carries  it  home  to  her  master 

And  is  told  to  look  after  herself. 

Of  course  we're  an  orphan,  adopted 

When  cast  off  by  the  great  Russian  Bear 
And  our  lot's  been  the  lot  of  an  orphan 

And  we've  had  a  "stage  orphan's"  care. 
Our  coal  land  was  grabbed  by  our  Uncle, 

Our  copper  and  fur  by  the  Jews, 
While  another  gang  took  all  our  salmon 

And  corrupted  our  natives  with  booze. 
23 


WOMAN,  DOG,  AND  WALNUT  TREE 

Sam  gave  us  an  Army  Commission 

And  told  it  to  build  us  a  Trail, 
But  all  that  Sam  gave  was  permissioni — 

He  didn't  come  thru  with  the  kale. 
Now  a  trail  in  Alaska  costs  money 

And  when  Dick  tries  to  get  a  bill  thru 
Some  jackass  from  Maine  reads  the  figures 

And  "moves  the  amount  cut  in  two." 

Our  Uncle  Sam  owns  all  the  cables, 

And  the  prices  he  gets  are  a  sin, 
It  costs  more  for  a  word  to  Seattle 

Than  it  does  from  Salt  Lake  to  Berlin. 
Our  coast  line  is  rugged  and  broken, 

A  menace  to  each  ship  that  sails, 
But  Sam  has  no  money  for  coast  lights, 

They  get  the  same  treatment  as  trails. 

And  Alaska  is  some  husky  orphan, 
We  can  reach  from  the  Gulf  to  B.  C., 

We  could  stand  with  one  foot  in  Kansas 
While  the  other  was  washed  by  the  sea. 


WOMAN,  DOG,  AND  WALNUT  TREE 

We're  allowed  only  one  voice  in  Congress, 

And  that  one  bereft  of  a  vote, 
And  has  to  get  some  one's  permission 

Ere  he  loose  a  protest  from  his  throat. 

Sam  gave  us  a  group  legislative, 

But  barred  them  the  making  of  laws, 
They  could  only  memorialize  Congress 

And  give  it  the  reasons  and  cause. 
The  cry  of  the  world  is  for  Home  Rule 

Yet  imported  fools  crowd  our  bench, 
And  some  of  their  mining  decisions 

Send  up  to  high  Heaven  their  stench. 

Sam  made  us  quit  gambling,  that's  all  right, 

But  one  thing  that  nobody  knows 
Is  why  he  allowed  a  bone  head  from  Georgia 

Hang  the  crepe  on  our  own  picture  shows. 
We're  all  hedged  about  with  restrictions 

And,  Sam,  won't  you  in  us  confide 
Why  some  of  your  damphool  ideas 

Are  not  tried  out  on  some  one  outside? 


WOMAN,  DOG,  AND  WALNUT  TREE 

This  Land's  not  the  land  of  the  weakling 

And  the  men  up  here  know  what  we  need, 
And  we're  sick  of  your  bunch  from  the  Outside 

Who's  only  incentive  is  greed. 
We've  stood  for  Pinchot's  conservation 

And  we've  stood  for  your  carpet-bag  horde 
Who  have  grabbed  off  the  jobs  in  Alaska 

As  a  sort  of  political  reward. 

But,  Sam,  take  a  tip  from  a  Roughneck, 

Go  slow  now  and  don't  crowd  your  hand 
Or  some  day  you  may  find  that  the  orphan 

Has  quit  creeping  and  learned  how  to  stand. 
Don't  make  us  the  goat  for  the  theories 

Advanced  by  some  government  cog, 
And  don't  use  this  land  as  a  station 

For  trying  things  out  on  the  dog. 

We  gaze  o'er  the  line  of  the  Yukon 

As  we're  watching  our  neighbors  at  play 

And  we  wonder  why  Our  Uncle  Sammy 
Don't  treat  his  Alaskans  that  way. 


26 


WOMAN,  DOG,  AND  WALNUT  TREE 

We  look  at  their  broad  graded  highways 
And  then  at  our  own  half  blazed  trails 

And,  Sam,  it  comes  damned  nigh  to  envy 

When  we  think  of  their  thrice  a  week  mails. 

They  don't  know  the  word  conservation, 

Their  resources,  all  theirs  to  use, 
And  when  they  ask  their  Uncle  to  help  them 

Their  Uncle  don't  often  refuse. 
Their  Uncle  has  helped  them  develop, 

Furnished  work  there   for  men   who  were 

broke, 
And,  Sam,  when  it  comes  to  Coast  Lights 

They  make  ours  look  like  a  joke. 

But  in  spite  of  it  all,  Sam,  we  love  you, 

We  love  every  thread  in  the  Flag, 
We  love  every  stream  in  Alaska, 

We  love  every  cliff,  every  crag. 
We're  not  like  the  Woman  or  Dog,  Sam, 

And  we're  not  like  the  Walnut  Tree 
Cause  we  want  to  be  loved  in  return,  Sam, 

And,  Sam,  you  are  blind,  or  you'd  see. 

Old  English  Proverb: 

"A  Woman,  a  Dog,  and  a  Walnut  Tree 
The  more  you  beat  them  the  better  they'll  be." 
27 


WHEN  THE  WATER  STARTS  TO  RUN 

ALONG  in  early  spring  time,  as  the  sun  starts 

swinging  North 
To  linger  with  the  land  it  loves,  and  violets 

peep  forth, 

When  the  water  starts  to  running  thru  the  rif 
fle  blocks  at  noon 
And  you  figure  that  you'll  clean  up,  about  the 

first  of  June. 
You've  been  thru  a  long  hard  winter,  but  you 

see  the  end  in  sight, 
You  don't  worry  'bout  the  cleanup,  cause  you 

know  the  pay  is  right; 
But  you're  feeling  sort  of  restless,  as  your  blood 

warms  with  the  sun 
And  your  heart  will  start  to  itching,  when  the 

water  starts  to  run. 
29 


WHEN  THE  WATER  STARTS  TO  RUN 

You  may  leave  your  Camp  at  evening  and  mush- 
away  to  Town 

To  dally  with  the  hootch  a  bit,  but  the  feeling 
will  not  down. 

You  may  mix  up  in  a  poker  game,  or  try  the 
dance  hall's  lure 

But  you're  fighting  off  a  feeling,  that  the  old 
cures  cannot  cure. 

YouVe  got  that  longing  feeling  that  there's 
nothing  satisfies, 

And  your  pard  can't  interest  you,  no  matter 
how  he  tries, 

You're  lonesome,  moody,  restless,  out  at  Camp, 
or  in  the  Town 

Your  mind  will  not  rest  easy,  and  your  trou 
bles  will  not  drown. 

Then    memory    pulls    her    picket    pins,    your 

thoughts  go  back  thru  years 
To  Outside,  Home,  and  Sweetheart,  and  this 

last  thought  sort  of  cheers ; 
You  recollect  the   days   you   spent  beneath   a 

Southern  sky 
And  with  regret  you  now  remember  they  all 

ended  with  good-by. 
30 


WHEN  THE  WATER  STARTS  TO  RUN 

It's  the  same  old  world-wide  feeling  that  comes 
to  man  each  year, 

But  it  seems  to  hit  us  harder,  when  we're  get 
ting  in  the  "clear1'; 

It  seems  that  it  grows  stronger,  each  year  added 
to  our  life — 

It's  the  hankering  of  the  white  man  for  a  Pal, 
a  Home,  a  Wife. 

Man  was  not  meant  to  live  alone,  why  quarrel 

with  Nature's  laws, 
God  gave  you  strength  to  build  a  home,  where- 

f or  then  do  you  pause  ? 
Go  forward  like  your  father  did,  go  forth  and 

seek  your  mate, 
For  till  you  know  a  wife  and  home,  you  know 

not  Heaven's  Gate. 
It's  the  deep  inherent  longing  for  a  baby  on 

your  knee, 
For  the  sound  of  children's  voices,  beneath  your 

own  fig  tree. 
The  male  instinct  to  have  a  mate,  to  love,  to 

guard,  to  hold, 
The  one  instinct  that's  left  to  us,  that  triumphs 

over  gold. 


WHEN  THE  WATER  STARTS  TO  RUN 

With  strength  enough  to  build  a  home  when 

once  you  get  a  wife 
Bear  gently  with  her  follies,  but  guard  her  with 

your  life; 
Crowd  full  her  heart  with  loving,  yet  hold  a 

guarded  rein, 
Lest  ye  two  now  that  rate  as  one,  again  be 

counted  twain. 
And  if  she  come  from  Outside  Camp,  remember 

all  is  new 
And  give  her  time  to  find  herself,  teach  her  to 

lean  on  you. 
And  should  homesickness  grip  her,  and  you  find 

your  wife  in  tears 
Forget  the  jest  and  love  her,  remember  your 

first  years. 

Then  gone  that  restless  feeling,  gone  all  desire 

to  roam, 
Life's   interest   all  is  centered,  deep  in  your 

Northern  home. 
Life  waits  in  peace  the  cleanup,  you  pass  up 

Outside  joys, 
And  the  tempter's  voice  is  silenced  by  the  music 

of  her  voice. 


WHEN  THE  WATER  STARTS  TO  RUN 

Then  you're  a  true  Alaskan,  with  a  home  won 
from  the  North, 

God  grant  you  children's  voices  when  the  violets 
peep  forth, 

And  in  the  summer  evening,  beneath  the  mid 
night  sun, 

May  your  heart  grow  closer  to  her,  when  the 
water  starts  to  run. 


33 


THE  THROWBACK 

HE  was  born  far  east  of  the  Rockies 

Of  a  pet  in  society's  van; 
A  wine-soaked  daughter  of  pleasure 

Bred  back  and  threw  a  man; 
A  man-child  who  grew  up  a  stranger, 

Who  never  could  learn  the  way 
Of  a  people  who  gauge  their  pleasure 

On  a  line  with  the  price  they  pay. 

Just  a  shred  of  an  education — • 

A  few  years  of  college  life, 
A  course  in  the  card  and  wine  room, 

A  year  with  a  chorus-girl  wife, 
Then  disgust  with  a  life  unnatural 

Spurred  on  with  the  curse  of  the  go, 
He  quitted  that  life  forever 

For  the  land  of  the  gold  and  snow. 
35 


THE  THROWBACK 

The  Lure  of  the  Land  had  gripped  him, 

The  Land  where  you  die  if  you  fail; 
The  Land  of  the  fabled  fortunes, 

The  Land  of  the  endless  trail. 
The  Land  of  the  lonely  silence, 

The  Land  of  the  cruel  cold, 
The  Land  of  the  lost  ambitions 

Alaska,  the  Land  of  gold. 

There  winters  of  long  hungry  hardships, 

Summers  of  pest-ridden  heat; 
Dicing  with  death  for  a  grub  stake, 

Risking  his  life  for  meat. 
Tossing  away  his  young  manhood, 

Giving  the  best  of  his  youth 
To  the  holes  that  he  bedrocked  on  wildcats, 

Where  gold  was  scarcer  than  truth. 

Ten  years  spent  in  Alaska 

Gray  haired,  with  cheeks  all  atan, 

Beaten,  but  still  unconquered, 
Flat  broke,  but  still  a  man, 


THE  THROWBACK 

Digging  and  sinking  and  drifting, 
Trying  to  locate  the  "pay," 

With  each  hole  a  fresh  disappointment- 
Yet  hoping  to  strike  it  next  day. 

Scorning  the  letters  recalling, 

Forgetting  the  friends  he  had  known, 
Turning  his  back  on  the  Outside, 

Facing  the  future  alone. 
A  Cabin,  a  Squaw,  and  a  Fishwheel, 

A  bend  in  the  river's  flow, 
A  band  of  half-naked  breed  kids — 

He  stayed  there,  a  sourdough. 


37 


THE  MALAMUTE 

WHEN  the  stars  from  the  skies  have  fallen 

And  the  smoke  of  the  world's  cleared  away; 
When  Saint  Peter  marks  ''30"  in  Life's  Book 

And  we  meet  there  on  Judgment  Day; 
When  our  trials  and  troubles  are  ended 

And  we're  wise  to  the  best  and  the  worst; 
When  the  time  has  arrived  that  the  wise  ones 

Have  told  us  the  last  shall  be  first; 

When  the  men  who've  made  good  are  rewarded 

And  the  losers  are  turned  loose  in  Hell; 
That's  the  time  that  a  lot  will  be  learning 

The  true  reason  and  cause  that  they  fell. 
And  I  wonder  when  Peter  gets  busy 

As  he  works  out  the  tenement  plan, 
And  when  Heaven's  thrown  free  for  location 

Will  he  confine  the  locations  to  man? 
39 


THE  MALAMUTE 

If  he  does,  my  claim's  open  for  jumping 

For  I  can't  figure  Heaven  complete, 
If  the  dim  distant  trails  of  the  sky  land 

Are  not  pattered  by  malamutes'  feet. 
Cause  I  know  it  would  never  seem  home-like 

No  matter  how  golden  the  strand, 
If  I  lose  out  that  pal-loving  feeling 

Of  a  malamute's  nose  in  my  hand. 

And  it's  that  way  with  lots  of  Alaskans 

These  men  of  our  own  last  frontier, 
Who  tear  into  nature  unaided 

And  who  scarce  know  the  meaning  of  fear. 
Who  live  on  lone  creeks  all  alone  here 

Where  the  living  and  dying  are  hard, 
And  where  oft  times  their  only  companion 

Is  a  malamute  pup  for  a  pard. 

He's  a  real  chum  with  things  coming  easy, 
He's  a  pal  with  things  breaking  tough, 

He's  a  hell-roaring  fighting  companion 
When  somebody  starts  something  rough. 


40 


THE  MALAMUTE 

He's  a  true  friend  in  sorrow  and  sickness 
And  he  doesn't  mind  hunger  or  cold, 

And  he's  really  the  only  one  pardner 
You  can  trust  when  you  uncover  gold. 

He's  a  guard  you  can  trust  at  the  sluice  box, 

And  he'll  watch  by  your  cache  thru  the  night, 
And  if  some  cheechako  tries  to  molest  it 

That  cheechako's  in  for  a  fight. 
As  a  pardner  he's  silent,  but  cheerful 

With  never  a  kick  'bout  the  trails 
And  if  it  wasn't  for  him  in  the  winter 

There  never  would  be  any  mails. 

He  pulls  on  our  sleds  in  the  winter 

He's  first  in  the  rushing  stampede 
He  goes  where  a  horse  couldn't  travel 

And  besides  that  he  rustles  his  feed. 
He  takes  a  pack  saddle  in  summer 

And  follows  us  off  thru  the  hills 
And  when  we  go  short  on  the  grub  pile 

He  shares  up  whatever  he  kills. 


THE  MALAMUTE 

'Twas  a  malamute  first  scaled  the  Chilkoot 

At  the  time  of  the  great  Klondike  charge; 
'Twas  a  malamute  first  saw  Lake  Bennett 

And  left  his  footprints  at  La  Barge  ; 
They  hauled  the  first  mail  into  Dawson, 

That  Land  of  the  Old  Timer's  dream, 
And  when  Wada  first  drove  in  from  Fairbanks 

He  was  driving  a  malamute  team. 

They  broke  the  first  trail  into  Bettles 

With  no  guide  save  the  lone  Northern  Star; 
They  freighted  next  year  to  Kantishna 

And  from  there  to  che  famed  Chandelar. 
They  know  the  long  trail  to  Innoko, 

Tacotna  and  Iditarod  too, 
For  there's  never  a  Camp  in  the  Northland 

But  what  these  same  malamutes  knew. 

They  brought  the  first  sport  to  the  Nome  Beach 
Where  they  showed  up  in  action  and  deed 

That  the  North  dog  is  game  as  they  make  them 
And  besides  that  has  plenty  of  speed. 


THE  MALAMUTE 

He  came  home  with  the  bacon  from  Candle 
Like  a  bat  out  of  Hell,  thru  the  snow, 

And  the  plunger  that  cashed  in  his  "out  tabn 
Was  his  pardner,  the  Old  Sourdough. 

So  it  seems  to  me  kind  of  unfair  now 

As  we  drift  toward  that  permanent  Camp 
Where  the  angels  are  running  a  dance  hall 

And  a  millionaire  grades  with  a  tramp; 
Where  the  trails  are  located  on  pay  dirt 

And  a  grub  stake  can  never  expire — 
Well,  if  they  shut  out  my  dog,  they  can  keep  it 

And  I'll  "siwash"  it,  down  by  Hell's  Fire. 

They  herald  the  growth  of  the  Northland 

And  progress  is  marked  by  their  trail; 
A  railroad  now  goes  where  they  brought  out 

The  Seward-Iditarod  mail. 
He's  first  in  the  growth  of  Alaska 

And  without  him  this  land  would  be  lost, 
For  there's  never  a  stream  in  this  country 

That  the  malamutes'  trail  has  not  crossed. 


43 


THE  MALAMUTE 

But  you  can't  tell  me  God  would  have  Heaven 

So  a  man  couldn't  mix  with  his  friends; 
That  we're  doomed  to  meet  disappointment 

When  we  come  to  the  place  the  trail  ends. 
That  would  be  a  low-grade  sort  of  Heaven 

And  I'd  never  regret  a  damned  sin 
If  I  mush  up  to  the  gates,  white  and  pearly, 

And  they  don't  let  my  malamute  in. 


44 


UNSATISFIED 

SOME  sigh  for  the  breath  of  the  desert 

Where  the  stifling  heat  waves  blow; 
Some  pant  for  the  trackless  tundra 

And  the  sting  of  the  cold  and  snow; 
Some  long  for  the  wash  of  a  sultry  sea 

As  it  breaks  on  a  tropic  shore; 
Some  pine  for  the  breeze  of  the  northern  seas 

And  the  sound  of  the  Arctic's  roar. 

The  things  that  men  love  be  countless 

But  they're  seldom  the  same  with  two, 
For  the  things  I  care  for  most  of  all 

Might  never  appeal  to  you. 
Some  men  run  to  wine  and  woman, 

Some  long  for  a  wife  and  a  home, 
And  he  drifts  with  the  tide,  unsatisfied, 

Who  leaves  these  things  to  roam. 
45 


UNSATISFIED 

For  he  hates  the  sands  of  the  desert 

And  the  slimy  tropic  south, 
Or  his  dreams  of  a  northern  fortune 

Are  as  ashes  in  his  mouth. 
He  loses  the  best  life  holds  for  man 

His  existence  means  discontent 
Still  he  goes  his  way,  until  comes  the  day 

When  he  quits  itj — a  life  misspent. 

YET 

Some  sigh  for  the  breath  of  the  desert 

Where  the  stifling  heat  waves  blow; 
Some  pant  for  the  trackless  tundra 

And  the  sting  of  the  cold  and  snow; 
Some  long  for  the  wash  of  a  sultry  sea 

As  it  breaks  on  a  tropic  shore ; 
Some  pine  for  the  breeze  of  the  northern  seas 

And  the  sound  of  the  Arctic's  roar. 


THE  PROSPECTOR 

Where  the  ragged,  snow-capped  saw  tooth 

Cuts  the  azure  of  the  sky 
And  watches  o'er  the  lonely  land 

As  ages  wander  by; 
Where  the  sentinel  pines  in  grandeur 

Murmur  to  the  glacier  stream 
As  it,  ice-gorged,  gluts  the  canyon, 

Never  brightened  by  the  gleam 
Of  sun  at  brightest  noon  day, 

Nor  moon  of  Arctic  night, 
And  whose  only  link  with  Heaven 

Is  the  fitful  Northern  Light. 
Where  the  Whistler  shrills  in  triumph 

And  the  Big  Horn  dreams  in  peace, 
Where  the  Brown  Bear  skulks  to  cover 

Up  where  silence  holds  the  lease; 
47 


THE  PROSPECTOR 

Where  the  land  is  as  God  left  it 
Nor  has  known  the  tread  of  man, 

There's   a   treasure   ledge   a-waiting — 
Go  and  find  it  if  you  can. 

If  your  heart  be  steeled  to  triumph 

Nor  beats  less  at  your  defeat; 
Can  you  watch  your  whole  world  melt  away 

And  still  smiling,  fortune  greet? 
Will  your  heart  and  brain  and  sinew 

Crowd  you  on,  when  hunger's  pain 
Gnaws  your  belly  and  you're  beaten, 

Can  you  lose,  and  fight  again? 
Can  you  raise  the  cup  of  fortune 

To  your  lips  and  bravely  quaff 
The  draught  she  has  prepared  for  you 

And  win  or  lose  and  laugh? 
Can  you  see  the  fruits  of  hardships 

Centered  on  one  desperate  throw 
And  know  Fate's  dice  are  loaded 

Nor  curse  to  see  them  go? 
Then  take  your  burden  up  again 

And  stagger  up  the  trail, 
You're  bound  to  make  a  winning 

Cause  you  don't  know  how  to  fail. 


THE  PROSPECTOR 

I,  who've  spent  my  youth  in  following 

The  lure  of  hidden  gold 
Must  pass  the  buck  to  Nature 

And  admit  Fm  growing  old. 
And  yet  each  spring  I  hear  it  calling 

And  it's  music  to  my  ears, 
The  call  of  lonely  places 

That  I've  listened  to  for  years. 
It's  cost  me  all  most  men  hold  dear 

Some  forty  years  of  life, 
And  all  the  joys  that  others  get 

In  babies,  home,  and  wife. 
My  life's  been  all  to-morrows 

And  my  family  only  dreams 
And  to  the  average  plodder 

I've  missed  it  all  it  seems. 
Still,  I've  never  taken  orders 

And  I've  always  liked  the  game, 
And  if  life  could  be  lived  over, 

Why, — I'd  live  it  just  the  same. 


49 


IF 

(A  Steal  from  Kipling) 

IF  you  can  hit  the  trail  in  zero  weather 

And  laugh  at  frozen  hand,  or  foot  or  face ; 

If  you  can  eat  your  dogs,  and  still  keep  moving 

And  beat  the  rest,  and  hold  the  stampede's 

pace; 
If  you  can  stake  and  dig  alone,  unaided 

And  hold  your  ground,  if  needs  be  with  a 

gun 
And  find  the  gold  and  have  some  lawyer  steal 

it, 
And  lose,  and  start  again,  and  call  it  fun. 

If  you  can  go  a  year  on  mouldy  bacon 

And  fight  the  scurvy  off  with  bayo  beans; 
If  you  can  jump  your  socks  and  do  your  wash 
ing 

And  smile  the  while  you  patch  your  thread 
bare  jeans; 

51 


IF 

If  you  can  laugh  when  sordid  hunger  mocks 

you 
And  smile  while  passing  strangers  eat  your 

grub; 

If  you  can  boost  when  everybody  knocks  you 
And  know  him  wrong  who  holds  you  but  a 
dub. 

If  you  can  still  the  pain  when  Outside  calls  you 
And  choke  back  thoughts  of  friends  you  still 

hold  dear; 
If  you  can  still  the  dreams  when  night  befalls 

you 
And  wake  and  strike  while  eyes  and  brain 

are  clear; 
If  you  can  wait  and  stick  it  out  a-smiling 

When  longing  letters  come  to  you  from  home, 
And  then  don't  find  the  taste  of  "hootch"  be 
guiling 

You'll  like  this  Land,  from  Seward  up  to 
Nome. 


IF 

If  you  can  bear  the  deadly  strain  of  waiting 
Till  your  turn  comes,  and  fortune  smiles  on 

you; 
If  you  can  fight  and  lose  and  keep  on  fighting 

And  to  your  early  promises  stay  true; 
If  you  can  go  thru  Hell  to  spend  the  summer 
And  cuss,  and  freeze,  and  starve  the  winter 

thru 

And  start  in  broke  again  another  New  Year 
You  don't  need  this  Land  to  make  a  man  of 
you. 

If  you  can  beat  the  Row,  the  Game,  the  Dance- 
hall 
And  all  men's  pleasures,  that  you  know  are 

sin; 

If  you  can  live  alone,  and  not  get  lonesome 
Nor  heed  the  "lady"   when  she  says  "come 


in": 


If  you  can  pick  a  winner  from  the  "wild  cats" 
And  hold  and  hope  when  everything  looks 

blue; 
If  you  can  give  up  everything  you've  ever  cared 

for 
Then  ALASKA  is  THE  ONLY  PLACE  FOR  YOU. 

53 


US  FOR  SAM 

While  all  Europe   is  a  shambles 

And  the  whole  world  is  at  war, 
And  half  the  land  the  sun  shines  on 

Is  drenched  in  human  gore; 
When  every  Nation  counts  the  men 

It  knows  are  tried  and  true 
We  send  this  message  to  you,  Sam, 

"Alaska  stands  with  you." 
You  never  treated  us  quite  right— » 

You  grabbed  away  our  coal, 
You  reserved  all  our  fire  wood 

And  what  weVe  used,  we've  stole. 
You  soaked  us  on  our  cable  tolls 

But  we  don't  give  a  damn 
Even  at  twenty-eight  cents  per  word 

WE'RE  WITH  YOU,  UNCLE  SAM. 
55 


US  FOR  SAM 

YouVe  squandered  untold  millions 

On  the  filthy  Philippines, 
But  you  always  made  Alaskans 

Go  and  rustle  for  their  beans. 
And  your  black  and  tan  possessions 

Tho  they've  cost  you  quite  a  few 
Can  never  be  depended  on, 

While  we'd  go  thru  Hell  for  you. 
We're  quite  unused  to  luxuries 

And  we've  always  played  alone, 
When  we  asked  for  help  to  build  our 
trails 

You  handed  us  a  stone. 
YouVe  four-flushed  on  the  railroads 

But  we  don't  care  a  damn, 
If  they  monkey  with  the  Eagle 

WE'RE  WITH  YOU,  UNCLE  SAM. 

You  gave  us  lief  to  make  some  laws 
Then  tied  our  hands  behind; 

That  gift  to  us  was  just  the  same 
As  pictures  to  the  blind. 


US  FOR  SAM 

Your  laws  all  have  a  "joker," 

Made  to  catch  some  Sourdough, 
And  it's  hard  to  beat  the  game,  Sam, 

The  way  it's  framed  up  down  below. 
We've  always  been  the  dumping  ground 

For  your  political  misfits, 
But  Sam,  if  you're  in  trouble 

We're  willing  to  call  it  "quits.'* 
We've  never  had  an  even  break, 

But  we  don't  care  a  damn; 
If  the  Lion  growls,  remember  this, 

WE'RE  WITH  YOU,  UNCLE  SAM. 

We're  used  to  meeting  troubles 

And  if  you  put  us  to  the  test 
You'll  find  Alaska  loves  you,  Sam, 

Far  better  than  the  rest. 
But  Sam,  when  this  is  over, 

As  morning  follows  night, 
Pray  give  us  your  attention 

And  set  some  matters  right. 


US  FOR  SAM 

We  need  some  decent  cable  rates, 

We  need  some  decent  mails, 
We  need  some  decent  coast  lights 

And  we  need  some  decent  trails. 
YouVe  given  these  to  all  the  rest 

But  we  don't  care  a  damn; 
If  it's  full  grown  men  you're  needing 

WE'RE  WITH  YOU,  UNCLE  SAM. 


HOW  LONG? 

As  long  as  lure  o'  placer  gold 

Brings  North  the  best  ye  breed, 
As  long  as  tales  of  camps  and  trails 

Are  planted  with  your  seed, 
As  long  as  red  blood  courses  thru 

And  warms  adventure's  sons, 
They'll  sally  forth,  bound  for  the  North, 

Misfortune's  chosen  ones. 

As  long  as  snow  slides  claim  their  toll 

And  glaciers  split  and  rend, 
And  sweepers  turn  the  flimsy  craft 

And  trails  come  to  an  end; 
As  long  as  flashing  Northern  Lights 

Flame  in  the  Arctic  sky, 
Your  boldest  ones,  your  bravest  sons 

Come  North  to  win  or  die. 
59 


HOW  LONG? 

As  long  as  lust  of  wealth  obtains 

And  gold  will  buy  all  things, 
And  bank  accounts  but  mark  the  line 

'Twixt  shovel  stiffs  and  kings ; 
As  long  as  fancy  rides  free  reined 

And  distant  fields  seem  fair, 
They'll  seek  the  ship  and  make  the  trip 

To  the  land  of  Do  and  Dare. 

As  long  as  birds  mate  in  the  spring 

And  moose  run  in  the  fall, 
And  widows  win  the  college  youth 

And  hold  his  heart  in  thrall; 
As  long  as  chance  for  fortune's  smile 

Can  be  centered  in  one  throw, 
This  is  the  truth,  the  Nation's  youth 

Will  hear  the  call  and  go. 

As  long  as  water  runs  down  hill 
And  smoke  goes  up  from  fire; 

As  long  as  pleasure  precedes  pain 
And  women  love  for  hire; 


60 


HOW  LONG? 

As  long  as  Klondike  widows 

Trail  thru  Outside  Cafes 
Some  one  must  stick  on  the  lonesome  creek 

For  there's  ever  the  "him"  that  pays. 

As  long  as  "huskies"  curse  the  moon 

And  creeks  remain  unnamed; 
As  long  as  quicksands  mask  the  bar 

And  there's  placer  ground  unclaimed; 
As  long  as  "pay"  is  found  and  staked 

By  some  deep-sea-going  Swede, 
That  gypsy  trace  that  marks  our  race 

Will  out,  then  we  stampede. 


THAT  30  U.  S.  ON  THE  WALL 

A  MAN  that's  spent  years  knocking  round  "out 
in  front" 

Has  most  usually  had  lots  of  pals — 
He's  mixed  up  with  pardners  at  various  times 

And  he's  had  his  affairs  with  the  gals. 
Now,  a  pardner's  peculiar  in  lots  of  his  ways 

And  he'll  ditch  you  for  various  reasons, 
And  a  gal  never  knows  straight  up  from  twice 

And  her  mind  seems   to  change  with  the 
seasons. 

I've  been  in  on  good  ground  with  pardners  I've 

staked 

And  I  thought  they  were  square,  till  I  found 
They  were  trying  to  cross  me,  the  miserable 

pups, 
And  whipsaw  me  out  of  my  ground. 


THAT  30  U.  S.  ON  THE  WALL 

I've  had  a  few  pards  that  would  stand  the  hard 

grind 
And  they'd  stick  through  hard  luck  night  and 

day; 
They  were  all  you  could  ask  while  you  rustled 

for  grub, 

But  they  blew  up  when  you  uncovered  the 
"pay." 

Way  back  in  the  "eighties"  when  I'm  just  a  kid, 

I  crossed  up  with  a  breed  gal  I'd  met 
One  winter  at  Circle ;  she  cleaned  me  that  year 

And  skipped  out  with  all  she  could  get. 
I've  fallen  for  females  in  half  of  the  camps 

That's  spread  over  this  country  up  here, 
But   "square   guys"    or   "pretzels"   I   couldn't 
get  by 

And  none  of  them  stuck  for  a  year, 

I  got  kind  of  discouraged  and  quit  the  she  sex 
And  figgered  I'd  just  herd  with  males, 

But  it  don't  make  no  difference,  I  guess  that 

I'm  wrong, 
'Cause  there's  always  the  parting  of  trails. 


THAT  30  U.  S.  ON  THE  WALL 

I've  had  lots  of  dogs,  but  a  dog  always  dies, 
Or  else  the  poor  devil  gets  killed. 

When  you  like  'em  and  lose  'em,  their  loss 

leaves  a  hole 
That  seems  for  a  time  can't  be  filled. 

So  pardners  and  females  and  dogs  is  taboo 

And  I  know,  'cause  I've  fussed  with  'em  all, 
There's  only  one  pal  that  I  know  is  true  blue 

And  it's  that  Thirty  U.  S.  on  the  wall. 
She's   stood  by  my   shoulder  and   stopped   a 
brown  bear 

And  she  keeps  the  cache  full  in  the  Fall; 
She's  got  the  one  talk  that  a  claim  jumper  knows 

And  she  craves  no  attention  at  all. 

I'm  getting  old  now,  and  some  sot  in  my  ways, 

And  I  don't  loosen  up  like  I  did. 
I'm  slower  to  make  friends  and  slower  to  trust 

Than  I  used  to  be  when  I'm  a  kid. 
So  it's  good-by  to  females  and  good-by  to 
dogs, 

And  good-by  to  pardners  and  all, 
For  the  only  one  pal  that  I  find  I  can  trust 

Is  that  Thirty  U.  S.  on  the  wall. 
65 


FLOTSAM 

THE  China  Coast's  a  dumping  ground 

And  the  South  Sea  gets  its  share 
Of  the  kind  of  men  that  don't  make  good 
The  kind  of  man  that  never  could 
The  men  that  never  care. 

A  worthless,  careless  drinking  lot 

Combed  out  from  between  the  Poles. 
It's  gin,  and  cards,  a  woman's  breath, 
Laughter  and  love  and  sudden  death 
And  the  Devil  gets  their  souls. 

It's  a  throwback  to  a  weaker  strain 
That's  washed  by  the  Tropic  tide. 

And  a  mixture  of  Dago  and  Japanese 

Latin  and  Jew  and  Portugese 
Crops  out  thru  a  sun-tanned  hide. 


FLOTSAM 

But  the  Northland  gets  a  sterner  breed 

To  fuse  in  its  harder  mould. 
It's  the  breed  of  men  that  don't  know  fail; 
That's  the  breed  of  men  that  hit  the  trail 

For  the  fabled  land  of  gold. 

They're  a  sturdy,  fearless,  fighting  lot 

And  they  play  the  game  to  win. 
They  fall  for  women,  wine,  the  game 
And  win  or  lose,  they  smile  the  same 

And  to  quit  is  their  only  sin. 

Here  the  Norsman  bunks  with  the  canny  Scot 

And  the  lad  from  the  Emerald  Isle 
Works  side  by  side  with  Russ  and  Dane, 
North-bred  men  of  brawn  and  brain, 
Men  that  are  worth  your  while. 

So  me  for  the  land  of  the  Midnight  Sun 

With  the  north  lights  in  the  sky, 
Me  for  the  land  that  mothers  this  race 
Where  you  have  to  fight  to  hold  your  place, 

Where  you  can't  quit  till  you  die. 


68 


TRYING 

THE  dream  of  the  white  man  ever  goes  out 

To  the  fight  that  can  never  be  won, 
And  ever  he  plans  to  do  the  things 

That  they  say  can  never  be  done. 
It's  seldom  he  values  the  things  that  are 

What  he  craves  he  may  never  gain, 
Yet  ever  he  tries,  till  the  day  he  dies 

And  then  feels  he  has  lived  in  vain. 

He  climbs  to  the  top  of  the  highest  hills 

To  search  out  the  vales  afar; 
He  bedrocks  a  hole  on  the  deepest  creeks 

He  hitches  his  cart  to  a  star. 
He's  ever  the  first  in  the  far  stampede 

As  he  chases  the  rainbow's  blend, 
But  it's  not  the  need,  and  it's  not  the  greed, 

It's  the  wanting  to  win  in  the  end. 


TRYING 

And  whether  he  strives  in  the  lofty  range 

Or  tries  in  the  crowded  mart, 
The  longing  to  do  what  has  never  been  done 

Is  uppermost  in  his  heart. 
He  tries  to  build  where  none  other  has  built, 

Win  the  maid  that  none  other  has  won, 
To  find  the  gold  that  he  never  can  hold, 

To  finish  what  cannot  be  done. 

He  lives  his  life  in  a  trying  way 

And  he  scorns  the  things  that  are  tame, 
If  all  seems  lost,  he  still  fights  on, 

For  ever  he  plays  the  game. 
And  the  efforts  he  makes  as  he  strives  to  win 

Are  a  credit  to  him  and  his  breed, 
And  the  gods  will  count  and  give  full  amount 

And  accept  the  act  for  the  deed. 


FOR 

The  dream  of  the  white  man  ever  goes  out 
To  the  fight  that  can  never  be  won, 

And  ever  he  plans  to  do  the  things 
That  they  say  can  never  be  done. 
70 


TRYING 

It's  seldom  he  values  the  things  that  are, 
What  he  craves  he  never  may  gain, 

But  ever  he  tries,  till  the  day  he  dies 
And  then  feels  he  has  lived  in  vain. 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

As  one  who  lays  aside  a  task,  where  one  has 

ruled  alone, 
I  lay  aside  the  crown  of  hell,  and  give  to  you 

my  throne ; 
As  one  who  feels  his  race  is  run,  whose  day  is 

of  the  past, 

I  recognize  your  genius,  and  abdicate  at  last. 
I  go  and  leave  you  master,  and  I  feel  it's  just 

as  well, 
For  Hades  lacks  its  master,  until  you  rule  in 

hell. 
The  world  wags  on  and  changes,  old  methods 

now  seem  weak, 
And  the  changes  of  a  thousand  years,  of  these  I 

fain  would  speak. 
73 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

I've  raised  and  sponsored  many  names,  that 

darken  history's  page, 
I've  made  them  rulers  of  the  world  in  many  a 

by-gone  age. 
They  all  have  shown  a  human  turn,  from  Nero 

down  to  you, 
But  now  my  life-long  dream  of  a  super  fiend 

at  last  seems  coming  true. 
I've  watched  you  since  the  faintest  spark  blazed 

in  your  mother's  womb, 
I've  watched  your  hypocritic  grief,  beside  your 

father's  tomb; 
I  know  the  tainted  blood  that  flows  thru  your 

each  and  every  vein 
That  shows  up  in  your  withered  arm,  and  feeds 

your  fevered  brain. 

I  saw  it  in  your  grandsire,  where  first  it  cropped 

out  plain 
When  German  gold  was  squandered  to  slay  the 

honest  Dane. 
I  fed  you  dreams  of  empire,  and  dreams  of  lust 

and  greed 
And  the  age  old  lust  of  conquest  that  taints 

all  of  your  breed. 
74 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

The  strain  that  showed  in  Nero,  cropped  out 

alike  in  you, 
You  killed  your  gentle  mother,  but  not  as  Nero 

slew. 
I  gave  you  hate  of  Albion,  for  all  the  world 

will  tell 
That  could  I  kill  that  Anglo  strain,  I'd  use  the 

earth  for  hell. 

I  loathe  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  I  hate  their 

English  speech, 
For  where  the   Union  Jack  waves  high,   the 

Cross  will  ever  reach. 
Their  ignorant  millions  till  the  soil,  for  they 

protect  their  own, 
I  hate  it  for  I've  never  had  this  ensign  for 

mine  own. 
I  taught  you  how  to  use  God's  church,  I  built 

the  path  you  trod, 
I  filled  your  mouth  until  you  claimed,  a  pardner- 

ship  with  God. 
I  told  you  tales  to  tell  to  men,  I  coached  you 

every  hour 
Until  an  egomaniac  ran  wild,  mad  with  a  lust 

for  power. 

75 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

I  made  an  army  for  you  then,  the  peer  of  all 
war  lords, 

I  smiled  the  night  you  went  away  to  visit  Nor 
way  fiords. 

I  knew  your  Bagdad  railway  schemes,  I  knew 
the  Austrian  claims, 

I  knew  that  German  gold  would  guide  the  mad 


assassin's  aims. 


I  knew  the  schemes  that  you  had  planned,  the 

one  that  nothing  curbs, 
I  envied  your  diplomacy  that  blamed  it  on  the 

Serbs. 
My  brain  ne'er  hatched  a  finer  scheme,  your 

armies  marking  time 
And  then  the  rape  of  Belgium,  your  premier 

man-sized  crime. 

And  if  one  deals  in  hellish  schemes,  that  one 

must  stamp  your  worth, 
You  made  a  shambles  of  that  land,  you  moved 

hell  up  on  earth. 
The  cries  of  mangled  maidens,  the  mutilated 

child, 
The  tears  of  butchered  mothers,  would  drive 

an  earth  man  wild, 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

And  thru  it  all  proclaiming,  you  were  the  tool 

of  God — 

O  pardner  in  this  orgy,  no  one  suspected  fraud. 
You  butchered,  maimed  and  pillaged,  hell  never 

saw  such  sights 
As  the  Prussian  Guard  remembers,  on  those 

first  Belgian  nights. 

O   shades   of  maddened  Nero   and  his  early 

Christian  fires, 
Could  he  have  been  in  Belgium  and  have  seen 

your  funeral  pyres ! 
Could  he  have  seen  your  orgies  he  would  have 

wept  for  shame 
But  had  he  your   fiendish   cunning,  he   might 

have  done  the  same. 

But  the  hated  Saxon  balked  you  and  the  des 
perate  fighting  Frank 
Hurled  back  our  super  devils  and  took  us  on 

the  flank. 
Your  inbred  tainted  offspring  lost  his  chances 

at  Verdun 
Where   curtained   steel   just  saved   the   world 

from  the  grip  of  brutal  Hun. 
77 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

But  Wilhelm,  you  are  crafty,  you  are  mine  own 
I  ween 

Your  fertile  brain  had  brought  to  life  the  hell- 
born  submarine, 

You  killed  the  unarmed  merchantmen,  you  mur 
dered  in  the  dark, 

You  sent  the  child  and  mother  to  feed  your 
friend  the  shark. 

The  world  grew  sick  with  wonder,  no  voice 
was  raised  to  laud 

And  still  you  did  it  in  your  name,  the  name  of 
you  and  God. 

Where  you  have  trod  the  world  is  dead,  no 
sign  of  life  or  mirth, 

You  beat  me,  Bill,  you  beat  my  hell,  with  this 
of  yours  on  earth. 

You  won  hell's  admiration  and  of  all  of  mine 

own  folk 
When  you  paired  off  with  the  ghastly  Turk, 

that  was  a  master  stroke. 
And  all  the  things  you  did  before,  just  now  seem 

weak  and  tame 
Since  you  launched  that  Dardanelles  campaign 

of  pillage,  lust  and  shame. 

78 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

To  fuss  thus  with  my  chosen  race,  my  ally  since 

time  dates 
Proclaimed  that  Kultur  and  the  Turk  are  well 

matched  running  mates. 
And  tho  Fve  watched  hell's  orgies,  and  stood 

by  in  fiendish  glee, 
I  quit  you,  Bill,  these  Turkish  stunts  are  far 

too  much  for  me. 

When  officers  from  Kultur's  class  stand  by  and 

watch  a  Turk 
Just  disembowel  a  mother,  why,  Bill,  it  makes 

me  shirk. 
It  makes  me   shudder  and  I've   watched  the 

master  fiends  of  hell, 
But  none  of  them  have  brains  like  you,  none  do 

their  work  so  well. 
When  Turk  and  German  flood  with  oil,  then 

set  a  school  ablaze 
And  bayonet  the  babies,  as  they  stumble  thru 

the  haze, 
I  yield  the  crown  to  you,  Dear  Bill,  my  pupil 

passes  me 
You  take  the  role  of  Master  and  your  pupil  I 

will  be. 

79 


THE  NEW  MASTER 

I've  worked  for  hell's  best  interests,  my  master 

now  appears 
For  when  your  name  is  mentioned,  the  imps 

break  into  cheers. 
The  gavel  of  the  poor  damned  souls,  that  long 

has  rung  their  knell, 
Is  passed  to  you,  I  abdicate  and  now  you  rule  in 

hell. 
For  years  I've  done  the  best  I  could,  now  I 

realize  I'm  thru, 
And  in  the  future  I'm  content  to  live  and  learn 

from  you. 
Your  earthly  work  is   finished,   soon   in  hell 

you'll  carve  your  name 
And  I  shudder  when  I  realize  that  hell  won't 

be  the  same. 


80 


PROSPECTING 

LOOKING  for  placer  pangar, 

Loafing  about  in  the  hills, 
Getting  your  grub  with  a  rifle, 

Taking  your  drink  from  rills. 
Getting  your  bed  from  the  spruce  tree, 

Taking  your  course  by  your  dreams, 
Just  camping  alone  in  the  mountains, 

Siwashing  along  the  streams. 

Locating  the  hind  sight  on  Nature, 

Traveling  alone  and  far, 
Thinking  with  no  one  to  guide  you, 

Digesting  the  things  that  are. 
Back  trailing  the  life  that's  past  you, 

Peeping  at  what's  in  store, 
Pondering  over  life's  mistakes, 

Wondering,  how  many  more. 
81 


PROSPECTING 

Dreaming  alone  of  childhood  days, 

Regretting  some  things  that  are  past, 
Recalling  lost  opportunities, 

And  chances  too  good  to  last.j 
Living  your  whole  life  over, 

Recalling  the  daily  grind, 
Thanking  your  God  that  it's  over, 

Glad  that  youVe  left  it  behind. 

But  still  regretting  your  errors, 

Sad  for  some  things  you  have  done, 
Wishing  that  you  had  coppered  some  plays 

As  you  count  them  one  by  one. 
Now  living  a  life,  clean,  decent, 

For  man  never  sins  alone, 
Getting  a  grip  on  your  ego, 

Coming  at  last  to  your  own. 

You  dream  and  you  hunt  all  summer 
Till  you  notice  a  chill  in  the  air, 

Then  you  think  of  your  warm  snug  cabin 
And  you  feel  that  you'd  rather  be  there. 


82 


PROSPECTING 

Then  you  head  over  unblazed  passes 
Till  at  last  you  herd  with  your  own, 

And  though  you  located  no  pangar 
You  are  better  for  being  alone. 


THE  WOMAN  THAT  YOU  PASS  BY 

MY  trade  was  old  when  the  world  was  new, 

Ere  the  pyramids  rose  by  the  Nile 
Men  quitted  their  wives,   and  gave  me  their 
goods 

For  the  warmth  of  my  kiss,  and  my  smile. 
For  never  was  wife  who  could  hold  her  man 

By  the  honeymoon's  afterglow 
Did  I  veil  mine  eyes  and  beckon  to  him, 

God's  truth,  and  'tis  you  who  know. 

My  trade  was  old  when  the  world  was  new, 

Long  ere  Caesar  ruled  in  Rome, 
To  spend  their  gold  in  a  harlot's  cell 

Patricians  quitted  home. 
And  high  born  dames  since  the  world  began 

Have  learned  to  sit  and  to  sigh 
And  to  patiently  wait  for  their  lords  to  leave 

The  woman  that  you  pass  by. 
85 


THE  WOMAN  THAT  YOU  PASS  BY 

I'm  only  a  pawn  in  the  game  called  life, 

Yet  I  take  what  you  never  could  hold; 
I  garner  the  kisses  you'd  barter  life  for 

And  with  them,  I  gather  your  gold. 
I  garner  the  best  of  your  manhood's  prime 

Then  quit  them  when  shattered  in  health ; 
I  bring  to  heel  the  ones  that  you  love 

And  smiling  I  shear  them  of  wealth. 

To  garner  the  wealth  that  you  hold  in  store 

I  must  keep  me  surpassing  fair, 
For  the  life  that  I  lead  is  an  open  book 

And  the  game  that  I  deal  is  square. 
Stop — think  of  the  maids  and  wives  you  know 

As  you  drift  thru  life's  subtle  game — 
How  many  are  dealing  as  straight  as  I? 

How  many  can  say  the  same? 

You  give  your  all,  and  you  slave  your  life 

In  a  struggle  to  hold  one  man; 
You  think  you're  paid  if  he  call  you  wife 

And  be  true  to  you  for  a  span. 


86 


THE  WOMAN  THAT  YOU  PASS  BY 

You  keep  his  house  and  you  bear  his  child 
And  you  walk  with  your  head  held  high 

But  most  of  his  love,  and  his  kisses  go 
To  the  woman  that  you  pass  by. 

The  favors  you  give,  I  sell  for  gold, 

And  men  prize  what  costs  them  high; 
You  never  will  learn  that  love  goes  out 

With  the  tear  in  a  woman's  eye; 
That  the  patient  drudge  who  sits  at  home 

And  learns  to  save  and  to  mend 
Can  never  hold  the  light  of  love 

But  is  doomed  to  lose  in  the  end. 

So  I  follow  the  old  dishonored  trade, 

Bedecked  in  garments  fine, 
And  the  cream  of  the  earth  is  saved  for  me 

In  raiment  and  food  and  wine. 
And  life  to  me  is  a  merry  game 

Tho,  sometimes,  I  weep  and  sigh, 
For  deep  down  in  your  heart,  do  you  envy  me 

The  woman  that  you  pass  by? 


WHY 

WHY  is  it  Alaskans  all  come  back 

When  they've  quit  this  land  for  good? 
Why  is  it  that  no  man  stays  away 

When  he's  sworn  to  his  friends  he  would? 
Where  lies  the  grip  this  country  hath 

All  tangled  around  the  heart 
That  takes  a  grip  that  can  never  slip 

And  can  never  be  torn  apart? 

Is  it  the  lure  of  the  summer  sunshine 

That  goes  to  the  head  like  wine? 
Is  it  the  lure  of  the  far  flung  meadows 

Of  the  shadowy  scented  pine? 
Is  it  the  lure  of  going  where  none  have  gone 

Of  just  being  alone  in  the  wild? 
Is  it  the  lure  of  the  ancient  glaciers 

That  were  old  when  Christ  was  a  child? 


WHY 

They  come  here  wild,  athirst  for  gold 

They  would  win  and  run  away, 
They  lose  the  stake  they  brought  along 

And  then  they  have  to  stay. 
Here  each  one  follows  his  own  bent, 

The  mines,  the  hills,  the  mart, 
Work's  but  a  name,  the  end's  the  same, 

The  country  steals  your  heart. 

There's  a  lure  to  the  land  of  the  poppy, 

There's  a  lure  to  the  land  of  your  birth, 
You  swear  you  abhor  it,  and  yet  you'll  long 
for  it 

As  no  other  land  on  this  earth. 
There's  the  lure  of  the  snow  mantled  vastness, 

There's  the  lure  of  each  valley  and  hill, 
Of  friends  that  you've  met,  that  you'll  never 
forget 

And  you'll  want  to  come  back,  and  you  will. 


90 


AND  STILL  I  LIKE  ALASKA 

FVE  tramped  across  her  endless  miles  of  tundra, 
I've  rafted  all  her  rapid  flowing  streams, 

She's  kept  me  on  the  hummer, 

I've  fought  mosquits  in  summer 
And  "siwashed"  neath  Aurora's  wintry  beams, 

And  still,  I  like  Alaska. 

I  went  a  winter  once  on  pay  streak  bacon, 
I've  gone  a  year  on  nothing  much  but  beans, 
I've  squandered  all  my  time  checks, 
The  kind  they  give  us  roughnecks, 
And  haven't  got  a  dollar  in  my  jeans, 
And  still,  I  like  Alaska. 


AND  STILL  I  LIKE  ALASKA 

I  got  a  stake  one  time  and  wandered  Outside, 
And  I'm  telling  you  I  surely  put  on  "dog," 

But  they  got  in  between  me  and  my  poke 

They  sure  did  clean  me 
And  I  hit  for  Dixon's  Entrance,  on  the  "hog," 

And  still,  I  like  Alaska. 

I  don't  suppose  a  man  will  live  to  beat  it, 
Some  day  we'll  quit  this  land  of  ice  and  snow, 

And  when  the  Devil  gits  us, 

And  finds  a  place  that  fits  us, 
And  we're  working  on  the  sulphur  beds  below, 

I  know  I'll  like  Alaska. 


92 


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